


Lamb

by mysteriol



Category: Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Falling In Love, Final Fantasy VII Remake Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26615443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysteriol/pseuds/mysteriol
Summary: Aerith’s been playing matchmaker lately for Cloud. Despite what is obvious to everyone else, and him. Despite what he doesn’t want.This time, he’s determined to make her see, that he gets a say in all of this. [ Cloud x Aerith, post-Remake ]“Cloud…I just want you to be happy.”“And you think Tifa’s going to be it? For me?”
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Cloud Strife
Comments: 19
Kudos: 97





	Lamb

**Author's Note:**

> a/n:  
> aw damn I’ve missed writing in present tense angst LOL and in-game material. 
> 
> So here it goes. Takes place sometime post-Remake after you meet the rest of the gang party before Aerith’s tragic end. Although whether Square is going to stick to the original plot or not to kebab our favourite flower girl remains to be seen hmm. 
> 
> Insert **anti-Cloti warning.**
> 
> Apply **standard no beta-read-no-time-imma-lazy disclaimer.**
> 
> Myst-san

It’s not like Aerith isn’t aware of what she’s doing.

Ever since they’ve defeated the Whispers and stepped out into the open sky away from the old steel plate, it’s as if a hole has opened up inside of her. Each step the party takes further away from Midgar only serves to deepen the incisions around the folds of her heart, and it doesn’t help that she barely sleeps at night anymore although she pretends to, just so to avoid causing anymore unnecessary worry any of them needs at this time to add to the weight of their burden.

If anything gives her state of weariness away, they are the eye circles rimming around her usually brilliant green eyes. Now they hang lifelessly behind her even more so lifeless green eyes, which is an irony in itself considering how much of a lifeform her own thoughts take on, especially when the Lifestream speaks to her _all, the, time,_ and she can scarce hear anything else when her eyes are shut tight in a futile attempt to get some sleep.

By the fifth night when everyone retires to bed after setting up dinner by the campfire out in the dreary plains of nowhere in the interim of their journey towards Kalm, Aerith remains behind to dazedly watch the ringlets of orange embers cackle into the thin, chilly air. There is a look of confusion and despondency on her face that is almost imperceptible; unreadable. She learns by now – perhaps it is one talent of being Cetra, Aerith muses dryly – how to conceal her emotions well beneath her usual cheery, bright veneer.

Especially tonight, no one needs to know what _she,_ at last, finally knows.

She’s got it all figured out herself only a couple of minutes ago just as she finishes chewing her dinner in her mouth. The images running through her head courtesy of the Lifestream incessantly speaking and conjuring endless visions to her, _finally make a hell lot of sense._

The world around her vanishes instantly.

It occurs to her that she’s the _sacrifice,_ that she has to die. For the world to get better. For everyone to attain their happiness. For everyone to lead their lives the way they deserve to be led.

That’s what the Lifestream has been telling her; trying to get through to her – but it’s taken Aerith an undeniably longer time to have grasp the fact, possibly attributing to an innate sense of denial of her own fate that has been so blindingly obvious from the start.

She’s the lamb; the final pawn in the mad silver-haired man’s chess game. The ultimate piece for everyone else’s checkmate.

And when it hits her like a bolt of lightning, she remembers almost curling over in front of the campfire with a pain that is more emotional than physical, the blow aiming straight for her heart in a swift punch that cuts everything else into invisible ribbons of red. The last thing she remembers seeing out of the blur of tears fogging her vision is her brilliant soldier in shiny armour looking at her across the fire with a quirked eyebrow – so beautiful, so darn magnificent even under the open sky’s moonlight – and the sheer, grim reality that she’s never ever going to envision her future with him settles into the abyss of her empty shell. 

All that’s left is for her to quickly push the dreadful thought away, offer Cloud her most stellar smile to reassure him she’s okay _(has always been okay)_ and she turns and retreats into the shadows of the night before anyone, him specifically, can see the awful tracks of tears beginning to force their way down her wet, sodden cheeks.

Nobody needs to know that she’s not going to live for a very long time. Nobody needs to know that she’s going to one day have to make that trip alone through the Sleeping Forest to get to the Forgotten City and deliver herself as a necessary parcel to exchange for the world’s existence.

Aerith takes a deep breath and dares to take a final glance behind her shoulder at her dreadfully handsome hero. He’s not alone now – Tifa has approached him and has placed her fingers against his forearm, whispering something into his ears that is obviously only a secret meant to be shared between the two of them who have known each other for the longest time.

Lovely set of emerald eyes soften. It is this moment when the Cetra makes up her mind.

Even if it kills her, she needs to know that her hero will be in safe hands and has a home to return to at the end of the day.

Tifa will be perfect for him, has always been. And Aerith dreads to think how this decision of hers might shred her heart like papercuts, but it is the _right_ decision.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Cloud is not stupid.

He sees the change in Aerith sooner than anyone else. How can he not? Those two days spent with her alone through the Collapsed Expressway, the Wall Market and Sector 5 had in some strange way tied his moods inextricably to her in a way he hasn’t foreseen. He’s become so attuned to her moods – whether she’s pretending to be cheerful, or genuinely upset – that he feels as if he has an in-built radar for sensing her emotions.

And Cloud knows Aerith tries and tries, for the sake of all of them not to worry over her. Knows that she doesn’t sleep very much anymore. Knows she barely eats well. Knows she smiles, but the joy doesn’t ever reach her eyes anymore. Knows that she knows some deep, devastating secret that she isn’t telling anyone for fear of shattering any more of their hopes and dreams.

Worst of all, Cloud knows and isn’t blind to how Aerith is _pushing_ him away lately.

She’s avoiding him, for some suspicious reasons.

She doesn’t come up to him and tease him mercilessly anymore. Hell, he even misses the way their palms use to connect in an irrational hi-five that for the life of him took forever to reciprocate her initiative. In the place of her physical touch is a void so empty, it leaves Cloud barren, and fuckin’ drills a hole in him so comically huge that he wants to laugh, but no sound ever finds his mouth because he realizes his folly that what he misses most is _Aerith_ by his side. Truly, by his side.

She acts friendly, but is formally distant. She sits around the campfire with all of them, but disappears quickly enough when he tries to catch her alone. She wedges a considerable distance between the both of them, and always excuses herself to tend to some menial task when he asks her along alone to run some errands to the weapon shop or restock supplies with him. There’s a different air about her that’s no longer the Aerith he remembers nor the one he’s grown accustomed to, as if that warm aura she often radiates now sprinkles into dust and has long ago vanished; nowhere to be seen.

And she thinks _he_ doesn’t know what she’s doing. But he’s not that dense. In fact, it’s so obvious, even Vincent has come up to him recently with a frown on the vampire’s face and asked “what’s Aerith up to?”

Not a clue, Cloud wants to reply curtly. He has not a fuckin’ clue why Aerith Gainsborough is so insistent on shoving Tifa and him together lately.

That silly flower girl is playing matchmaker, for the both of them.

When he thinks about it, he gets so frustrated he wants to punch a fist into a hole somewhere. Or even asks to borrow Barret’s gun and lodge a bullet safely into a wall to send the earth beneath trembling.

Cloud is frustrated, and _mad._

It’s been a series of confusing incidents at first. When Aerith volunteers Tifa to go in place of her to accompany Cloud to set up the tents at their next campsite. When they’re at the Gold Saucer and Aerith effectively pulls the rest of the party away so that he and Tifa end up being in the same gondola ride, alone together. When they’re deciding who should pair up and ride on the chocobos, and Aerith goes instead with Barret so that Tifa is left to partner with him. And simple, tiny things like physically nudging Tifa closer to walk beside him, picking a rare flower from the barren outskirts and offering it to Tifa saying it is on _his_ behalf when Cloud’s sure as hell he has not a single clue about the art of flower-picking aside from the first time he’s done it _for_ Aerith and the Sector 5 kids…

…In fact, Cloud’s lost count, and also lost his mind, over Aerith’s maddening actions lately.

A part of him wants to wring her neck and shake some sense back into Aerith – _his_ Aerith. Another part of him wants to reach out and impulsively take her hand and makes sure she doesn’t phase out on him this time like in his dream outside her house.

Most of all, he wants Aerith to _stop._ All of this nonsense.

Why is that the supposedly all-knowing Cetra doesn’t even know something as simple as his feelings when everyone else on their team has even seen the evidence exhibited by their leader right in front of their own eyes and believed it?

True, Cloud isn’t a man of many words. But he likes to think his actions often speaks louder than any of his monosyllabic utterances, anyway.

And if even young, brash Yuffie can catch on how he feels for the flower girl, if even Barret the usually dense, fool-hardy man who hates Cloud’s guts more than anything has seen through the ex-SOLDIER’s veneer in that significant moment he’s barged into Shinra headquarters to save one specific person on his damned mind, then why can’t the flower girl?

Why doesn’t anybody ever ask what _he_ wants? Doesn’t he _ever_ get a say?

When he finally corners Aerith by the lake after everyone’s turned in for the night, he catches her off-guard. She obviously hasn’t anticipated his company, nor realized he’s discovered her hide-out on the grass patch by the reflections of the water she’s been holing up for countless nights since she’s lost the ability to slip into restful sleep.

(He’s not stupid, either. For the past few nights, he’s memorized the spot long ago where she usually stands, and has long been keeping an eye on her a few yards away in the dark to make sure she’s always safe thinking she’s on her own when she never really is. He’s _her_ bodyguard, remember? Even if he’s assumed that responsibility quite reluctantly when he first started out, Cloud’s determined to do a damn good job at protecting the most precious person to him.)

“You—” She looks at him, eyes growing large. A hand flutters to her chest. Her lips part in surprise.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t find a need to. His steps take him closer to her. He hears her draw a sharp breath as he gradually closes the distance and reaches for her hand before she can change her mind.

She looks at him with imploring eyes. He witnesses the first tears stinging at the corner of those brilliant hues of green reminding him of a thousand forest springs. It stings all the way to his heart and splits it into two. Cloud knows not a magic spell more powerful and binding and hurting than the tears from a Cetra.

He hates himself for not having protected her from feeling upset.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” his voice comes out thick. Can he help it though? He doesn’t even trust himself to speak without shattering into a million pieces looking at her damned innocent eyes. “It’s not going to work, Aerith.”

She bites her lips. Looks away.

He doesn’t let her go, not yet. His hand covers hers.

“Cloud, I…” she swallows, and distracts herself by finding her toes beside the shimmery waters suddenly interesting, “I just want you to be happy.”

This is the part he tries to shake her until she regains her wits back. He should. He’s so angry, so desperate for her to understand, but he holds back. He knows what’s more important to be done, before he regrets another decision not made; another ‘what-if’ endlessly spinning in his head. Another lost opportunity; lost dream, with _her._

He can’t afford to let it happen again. He won’t let her go, this time.

“Do you,” he breaks off half-way to stare at their intertwined hands and is partially relieved she hasn’t made an attempt to brush him away yet. His voice is trembling with emotions, and fear of her leaving him into the moonlit night all over again like the last time sets a rising panic in his chest, “Do you know what I want then?”

She doesn’t hesitate for a second. Her smile is watery, but bright. It captures a million stars incandescent in its curving shine, sending his heart aglitter with her vision alone embedded in every crinkle.

“A home,” she tells him simply, then continues before he can interrupt, “I want you to have a home to go back to when all this is over.”

Her fingers loosen its slack around his grip, but he refuses to let them go. His eyes are fixated on hers, daring her to look away – so she doesn’t.

“And you think,” he’s rasping now – hell, speaking is hard when he’s trying not to haul her to his chest and encase her in his arms to force his point across to her blatantly in her face, “and you think _Tifa’s_ going to be home? For me?”

He can’t believe it for the life of him. That Aerith has ever entertained that damned notion.

There is sadness encircling her eyes as if faced with the utter truth. She nods sadly, and it takes him all his years of mercenary training to steel his limbs from wrapping them around her tiny waist.

She lifts a hand to touch his face – and all the tidal waves in him break into a flood of ocean right into his heart.

“Anyone,” she’s speaking so softly now, he has to inch closer to listen to what she has to say – to justify her illogical words, “Anyone, but me, Cloud.”

He freezes, all the breath constricting in his lungs. Dust gather in his throat, and he only remembers the last time anything cutting him harder than the sharpest blade on the market is the last time she’s told him not to fall in love with her.

_(Too fucking late for that.)_

“No,” he says aloud before he can help it.

Her eyes are wide. She hasn’t expected the burning resoluteness underlying his tone.

“No,” he repeats, louder this time, and Gaia help him – before he can think through the logic and repercussions of his actions, he’s already gone and wrap a strong arm around her waist and haul her into the folds of his embrace.

He hears her deep breaths when she’s so close beside him, her mouth against the fabric of his shirt, her cheeks brushing the skin of his shoulder. She’s surprised. Good. He ought to take her by a start more often to gain the advantage.

“You said so yourself. We can change this,” he presses on.

He doesn’t want to believe what he’s already seen in her eyes. He knows what she knows – just by seeing the truth written all over her face regarding her eventual demise. No way in hell he’ll ever let that happen as long as he lives another day as her bodyguard. And he knows he’ll protect her to his last, dying breath. Even if he has to move mountains. Even if he has to cross seas and sail through storms.

He’ll do it all. Without a price, this time.

(They say, love is the most powerful payment. Cloud knows now that is true.)

“I know,” she says miserably, clutching onto his shoulders, “But maybe some things are meant to be, maybe it’s better this way –”

“Aerith,” he cuts her off, his deep voice sending tremors down her spine as he holds her closer until his lips are almost pressed against the nape of her neck, “You never asked me what I want.”

She draws slightly apart in his arms to look up at him. She falls in love with the way his eyes are reserved only for hers- all over again. Despite it all, the corners of her lips curve upwards, “Well, Mister, what do _you_ want?”

Cloud finds it oddly comforting, how the slightest curl from the right lips can be all the grace he’ll ever need.

“I want a say in all this,” he tells her, never pausing for a heartbeat, “We can defy the odds, Aerith, and we’ll do it. Together. I won’t let you go, this time.”

His eyes are rough seas of a million emotions bearing down on hers, until she’s endlessly and blissfully lost in them. She needs only to take one look to see the adamant conviction; the stubborn determination in them, and she _believes_ him.

“And what I want isn’t Tifa,” he pauses for effect, letting the slightest hint of a smirk touch his lips, “But…you already know that, don’t you?”

“No,” she says, breathlessly. Her eyes acquire the old humour that he never realizes how incredibly he’s missed seeing in her. She’s laughing slightly, even now. Never mind there’s still a trace of an evident teardrop that’s managed to push past her beautiful eyelid. He catches her tear in time, extending the width of his stroke so he’s caressing the length of her porcelain cheek, down to the curve of her widening smile.

“Enlighten me,” she teases. Her smile is the only magic he ever needs. Other Materias be damned.

The silver of the lake joins the glitter of moonlight to cradle her lovely, upturned cheeks, and Cloud doesn’t remember another time having fallen in love with someone who feels like the warmth of the sun on a cold, frosty morning but soothes his heart like the cool waters of the sea on the hottest day.

All he’s certain now is of the girl in his arms who’s long ago held him captive, ensnaring him to her spell, and she has eyes and a heart that hold the purest riches the world has ever seen.

“Pleasure’s mine,” he answers, and the last of his words are incinerated when his mouth bends to capture hers in his.

(He’s always been a man of few words, anyway.)

The ache in his heart gradually dissipates when her lips touch his and she kisses entire universes into the tunnel of his heart. His world collapses into a simple eternity filled with her stillness, and hers alone.

He will make her see- that home is wherever she is. They have the present now, and that is all that matters.

It is enough time for him, and her to work a miracle, that will last them a lifetime. Whatever the future that awaits them, Cloud knows she knows now –

…that she’s not in this alone. And he won’t ever let her be.

**FIN**

* * *

A/N:

Sorry I cannot write eternal angst lol I just had to sprinkle some dollop of sap by the end =x sue me haha…not.

Yay! Can’t remember the last time I wrote an in-game Clerith fic. Aw shucks I pine for those days where I was playing through Chap 8/9 on Remake again sobs.

Comment/review – scream with me how much you love them!

  
myst-san


End file.
